Reborn Windrunner
by ArisenHemloc
Summary: For years Sylvanas had lived a life of undeath, her heart silent and jaded. After a daring betrayal her heart stirs once more. Set after the events of War Crimes (so spoilers for those who haven't read the book) and during Warlords of Draenor. First fanfic, so please review and comment. Try to be constructive.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was always frigid within the dank depths of what used to be Lorderan Castle, now aptly dubbed the Undercity. Luckily Sylvanas didn't have a sense of smell now due to her undeath, a saving grace because of all the rotting corpses that walked around. Pert though her nose was, it no longer served any function other than to give the woman some semblance of being even partially alive. However the world knew all too well of the Banshee Queen and the horrors that she'd committed. Gilneas, Silverpine, South Shore and numerous other regions had been devastated by her aimless anger.

Sitting upon the throne of the Undercity, Sylvanas sat in silence while Forsaken generals spouted information that she already knew about. Who did they take her for? Most of this information was old news to the ex-Ranger General of Silvermoon. With most of the more indispensable soldiers fighting on alternate Draenor, matters back on Azeroth had become rather more complicated. While it was true that the Horde and Alliance did have a truce at the moment, that didn't mean very much to the undead.

Since a year ago, Sylvanas had been feeling the irresistible urge to cleanse all life from the Eastern Kingdoms. Always the dark thought had plucked at the back of her mind from time to time, but now it was almost an obsession. New poisons were being developed all the time in the depths of the Undercity and additional test subjects 'volunteered' all the time. For once the remnants of the Scarlet Crusade proved to be a boon rather than an annoying thorn.

As the generals yammered on, her exposed fingers stroked the cold iron of which her throne had been made. Once upon a time the king of Lorderan would have sat upon a magnificent throne atop this very spot. That was before Arthas drove Frostmourne through his heart and then proceeded to ram it through the now frozen heart of the banshee. This throne had been constructed for her after the trial of Garrosh. A queen needed a small comfort, even if it was extremely uncomfortable. Functional but not warm like a mortal rulers.

Soft footsteps caught the attention of the elf, their boots makings clicking noises on the stone floor. No attempt was made to mask their presence. All such attempts would prove useless in the end if they were determined to sneak up on the undead Ranger. Slowly the dark red eyes of the dead elf moved up to see the five women entering the chamber. Dark Rangers all with the stereotypical black cloaks that was now common among all their kind. Each was a welcome sight in the eyes of the Banshee Queen.

Gracefully the five glided over towards the queen, garnering a few intimidated glances from the now silent commanders. While they drew closer Sylvanas waved off the Death Guard and commanders that populated the room. Obediently they exited. Had they not then a fate worse than undeath awaited them. Only the Death Guard gave any pause before making an exit. Loyal until the end, a trait that had earned a small amount of praise from the undead elf, the Death Guard only left their charge under protest.

All five knelt before the Banshee Queen who slid back the maroon hood, allowing her now raven hair to spill forth. In turn each removed their hoods except for the one on the end who wore a slightly altered attire to the rest of the company. Unlike the others who wore traditional black leather armour modelled off the old Ranger armour, this one had a high collar which concealed the lower half of the young woman's face. All that you could see from beneath the hood was the scarlet eyes and pale white hair.

That was Kylande for you. She'd never taken to undeath like her subordinates. Following the example of the Banshee Queen most Dark Rangers accepted their undeath to some degree as inevitability now. Captain Starstrider still to this day searched for some way to undo their curse. So long as it didn't interfere with the eventual victory of the Forsaken, Sylvanas just smiled and allowed it.

"Lady Sylvanas, it is good to see you well," Kylande said in a soft voice that was so familiar to Sylvanas.

"Likewise. I must admit that I'm surprised that you are back so late." They were overdue. The Dark Star Rangers as she called them prided themselves on being prompt. Should she give them a time frame to complete a mission, it was done within any stipulations.

"Forgive us, but we were unavoidably detained. Teelande found a bottle of wine and just had to bring it back." Slowly all eyes turned to the woman who smiled through the decayed remains of her lips. Teelande was an odd one. Every Ranger had bet that if anything would kill Tellande it would be her binge drinking. In the end it was a ghoul disembowelling her. The scars still remained on the taut stomach to show the means of the woman's death.

Brushing the pale red hair from her eyes, Teelande looked to the Banshee Queen. "It's a rather rare vintage, Dark Lady."

"And so you endangered the mission to obtain it?" Sylvanas demanded while keeping her voice level.

"Not at all. I procured it AFTER we finished." From the backpack under the dark cloak, the woman drew forth the bottle. It was a nice crimson colour and the label was fairly old. Suddenly Sylvanas bit her lip. That was a Silvermoon XXXI. That had been Alleria's favourite wine. Slowly a pale hand reached up and touched the sapphire necklace dangling at the base of the neck. A stupid thing that she'd been meaning to throw away, but never got around to it. All it brought forth now was memories of a dark betrayal of love. An emotion that would never be felt again in this dark heart.

Something sparked in the cloaked Ranger's eyes. "Sylvanas, we all remember when Alleria left us," Kylande spoke sombrely. "When I saw what kind of wine that Teelande had grabbed, I immediately thought of that moment all those years ago."

A clinking of crystal against crystal caught her attention as Ostra produced a set of fine glass goblets from her satchels. On the edge of her scarred lips a smile appeared. "Lady Sylvanas, will you join us in a drink to the fallen that will never return?"

While on the outside Sylvanas remained stern, internally the woman was conflicted. Was this right? Alleria was a part of a family that she wanted nothing to do with now. Yet Alleria had always been there for the sisters up until the end. If there was a single thing that Sylvanas would give up this second life for, it would be to just see the caring smile of the eldest Windrunner. Well, second to possibly rewriting time to kill Arthas as a child.

Despite the silence, Ostra and Kylande had already moved over to the nearby table to prepare the drinks. Regardless of answer the women would drink. Standing from the throne, Sylvanas just couldn't help but think of this as the final farewell. Already there had been a funeral for the missing High Elf, but now would be the hour that the last tie to life would be severed forever. From now on it would just be the Dark Lady Sylvanas.

Ostra handed her lady a fine glass with the care a Ranger would be expected to take. Over by the table Kylande pulled down her collar to reveal the badly mauled mouth that would never heal. Always a bit of a loner. Holding up her glass, Sylvanas felt a slight hesitation. With this, it would be the end of the Windrunner sisters. All that would be left would be that backstabbing Vereesa.

"To those who will never come back. And to you women too. You have made undeath...bearable," Sylvanas said with a smirk.

"Thank you, my lady. Now, forgive me," Kylande said before a pain erupted from Sylvana's back. A gloved hand covered the lips of the undead elf as fiery pain coursed through every part of the woman's body.

It felt as though someone had poured litres of molten iron down her throat, incinerating everything on the way down. Pain exploded hottest from her chest which made every gasping breath all the more excruciating. Each fibre screamed in agony which in turn caused a muffled scream to leave the covered mouth. Only the strong arms of Kylande kept Sylvanas upright as the glass fell from her hand, Teerande leaping forward to catch the falling article. Her queen was being assaulted and all she could think about was the glass!?

Then Sylvanas, in the haze of pain, saw the sombre expression on their faces. They were all in on this! Whatever was happening now was on the heads of five of the most trusted Dark Rangers at her disposal. Kylande, Ostra, Teerande, Vilaen and Princette. All of them had betrayed their commander! Finally Sylvanas was allowed to collapse, hitting the floor with barely any sort of recognition as the pain subsided.

Numbness ran throughout every part of the banshee's body. Only the heaviness in her chest was registered and that was just faintly. Vilaen removed her black glove to reveal the decaying hand beneath, Sylvanas's fading eyes not leaving the woman as she took her wrist in hand.

"It worked!" Vilaen breathed in a hushed whisper that could have been mistaken for the eerie breeze that travelled the Undercity.

A small golden orb etched with ancient symbols and dials fell to the ground as the traitor's leader knelt down next to Sylvanas. "Forgive us, Dark Lady. This is for your own good. Whatever punishment awaits at the end for us, we will endure for this crime."

Poisonous words wanted to form on the Banshee Queen's lips but whatever she'd done to her had worked its accursed magic well. Limply the woman was torn from the ground by two of the Dark Rangers who glanced around cautiously. _Yes, be very careful traitors_, Sylvanas thought as her mind began to go blank. _I will have my revenge on you as I did on Arthas!_ Eventually darkness clouded her vision until all that was left was a faint drumming sound. Raping her pointed ears was a sound that was oddly familiar yet so alien. A sound that she couldn't place as darkness consumed her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Forgotten Disclaimer - I do not own any of the Warcraft franchise in any way, shape or form. All products relating to the Warcraft universe are property of Blizzard Entertainment.**

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><p>Piercing light broke through the blackness that had consumed the Banshee Queen, causing her to almost shout in pain. Throwing her arm across her face as a temporary shield the darkness threatened to rise up again. At being in darkness again the strange drumming intensified. For some odd reason the sound also carried a peculiar dizziness with it. When these eyes opened there'd better not be a Dark Ranger pounding on some drum as a kind of torture. As the light lessened in intensity the eyes were finally able to be opened.<p>

Blue sky mixed with a hue of orange was the first sight the Elf saw. About fifty odd years ago this same sky would have been one that she'd watched from the safety of the Windrunner Spire. Back then she'd have sat in her comfortable bed with the blankets huddled around her while watching the sun rise or set. There was a prominent chill in the air that ran right through the woman's body, just like it had back then when she was in her twentieth summer. Based on the cool weather in the middle of summer, the time could be estimated to be around six or seven in the morning. Had this been a normal situation then maybe a few moments would have been spared to just lay here in the cool grass to stare up carelessly.

However this wasn't a normal situation. Anger flared in the woman's chest for a few reasons. She'd been betrayed. Betrayed by five her most trusted Dark Rangers who had served with great distinction and honour during the Fall of Silvermoon. Those who squandered the trust placed on them by the ex-Ranger General would eventually feel a blade nestled in their hearts, no matter how dead they may be.

Sitting up, Sylvanas glanced around while rubbing her now tingling stomach. This was eerily familiar with the purple grass and crystallized trees but she couldn't discern the location. Not with this throbbing headache. With a groan of discomfort she held the warm forehead. Curse Kylande to the blackest depth of true death! Not for almost a decade had such mortal things such as headaches affected her. When she'd been alive they were common. Once a month they'd begin their prompt throbbing.

Curiously her brow creased. Her head was warm which was odd when you considered that no blood flowed through the long dead veins. Rhythmic drumming began to kick in once again, echoing in her long ears like a cavern. More than likely the heat was a lingering side effect from the vicious attack which had more than likely charred her insides. Removing the hand from her forehead, a flash of white caught her attention. Glancing towards the five fingers poking out of her fingerless gauntlets she took a few moments to register what she was seeing as real.

No longer were there five bluish grey coloured fingers tipped with long talon like nails, but instead the flesh had reverted back to the creamy colour it had been in life. Sylvanas inspected the hand with the drumming getting louder once more, each beat causing her chest to tighten. As cool air filled her dead lungs, the sight before her was unbelievable.

"What kind of illusion is this?" she muttered to no one in particular. "I have not time for childish illusions!" As she spoke, a peculiar thought came to mind. Was this the only part of her body that was given a facade of life? Unable to see her legs due to the long black skirt, adorned with its silver Quel'dorei symbols and patterns, Sylvanas checked up the more exposed forearms. The obvious illusion was quite well executed as it continued its charade up the arm and even under the black shoulder pads.

Each part of her body that she could get a good look at was this same shade with the only discolouration being around where wounds had been sewn up and healed by her unique natural healing ability for an undead. Deep in the recesses of her mind, a spark of belief began to glow brighter. Reasonable doubt still clung to her mind though. After becoming undead there was no way to reverse the process. The Earthen Ring and Cenarian Circle had already presented 'cures' but found that nothing worked. All that would happen was that some optimistic Forsaken would participate in a test and end up in a permanently dead state. No thank you! No such cure would ever be ingested down this throat! True death was a frightening prospect now that Fate had given her a glimpse of what it had in store for those raised by necromancy.

Dragging her eyes away from her body, Sylvanas surveyed the surrounding area for some sort of reflective surface. With all the crystallized plants in the area you'd think that one of them would be reflective to some extent. During the stationary search, her eyes caught a sharp shine out the corner of her eyes. The twin knives that had been constant companions throughout life were perched invitingly near a pool of rainwater. Crawling over on hands and knees her hands grasped the handles of the elegant blades. Although from the hilt down to the pommel had been replaced countless times due to wear and tear, the curved, ornate blades had never dulled or been replaced. Elven craftsmanship at its finest.

Reattaching the blades to the belt around her dress, Sylvanas took the chance to glance into the crystal like water in the pool. Everything here was disturbingly familiar but without proper recognisance it was impossible to accurately place a guess. Inside the pool of water was a High Elf woman with ebony hair and a maroon hood pulled back to allow the hair freedom. Greyish blue eyes stared back at Sylvanas, small knife like tattooes faded over the healthy pink skin. A small trickling of crimson blood ran down from a tiny scratch on the noble cheek line, the drop falling from the chin and into the watery mirror.

"Anar'alah!" the woman gasped on impulse, the phrase not one that she'd uttered since becoming undead. That was her! Rubbing where the scratch was in the image before her, the fingers found a nostalgic wetness. Pulling away the trembling hand there was indeed red staining the fingers. Swallowing her pride the woman licked the blood. An old Ranger trick but not a very distinguished one. It was her blood alright. When inducted into a Ranger unit, you sometimes tasted the blood of your comrades to confirm if any blood stains belonged to them. Some called them vampiric and yet such means had more than once helped a mission along to a glorious success.

This was no illusion. If it had been then the creator of said illusion would have had to have knowledge of what her blood tasted like. None of her original squad was alive or revived as Dark Rangers. Only Nekros knew and there was zero chance he'd be in on this. That drumming sound finally made sense as the woman touched her blood speckled fingers to her chest. It was her heart beat. Internally such news made her ecstatic but soon the party ended. This wasn't the time to be celebrating or ponder the rebirth.

Dusting off her skirt, Sylvanas rose while trying to ignore the annoying pain in her gut. It didn't feel like hunger but more like someone had taken a metal ball bedecked in spikes and stitched it inside her. Right now the priority was to find a good landmark so that a proper plan of action could be determined. Spinning around she immediately found a landmark that she'd foolishly failed to notice. A fair enough mistake to make considering that she'd been more concerned about herself. Still, as Ranger-General such a mistake was unacceptable.

It was unacceptable to miss the large floating city of Dalaran.

Seeing the magical city caused an additional lump to appear in the pits of her stomach. Great. That meant that Alliance aligned soldiers would be in the area. Despite the important fact that she was alive now, that wouldn't equate to much if caught. Being tortured by Genn Greymane wasn't an appetizing thought. Considering the vile betrayal roughly a year ago, Vereesa wouldn't be of much help in such a situation.

'_She'd probably turn me in,' s_he sneered internally. '_Two timing half-breeding sow.' _

Biting back the anger for a few moments, she turned from the city. There was a Sunreaver base nearby where transport could be procured. Once back at the Undercity vengeance would be hers. Yanking the hood back up to cover the ebony hair and facial features, Sylvanas took off through the shadows of the crystal trees and bushes. Most of the creatures of the forest ignored the very existence of the Ranger leaping from shadow to shadow. Even in this living form the darkness obeyed her somewhat yet not as fully as it had when undead.

To many it would seem as if the grass was deaf to the fact that there was a boot crushing it but that was just a skill in a Ranger's repertoire. For each silent step her grey eyes darted between all directions while the long pointed ears scanned for disclosing noises to betray another's presence. Unless actual visual contact was made it would be inconceivable that someone discovered her presence. Each time a twig snapped the woman went rigid and still, quickly darting around to discover the source. All the time it proved to be just some small animal. Being jumpy was an essential trait when properly moderated.

After a few minutes of careful movement she stopped against a tree, long dead muscles burning from their new use. In addition to the empty yet painful pit in her gut, the chilly air coming down from Icecrown Glacier was cutting through her body like nothing else. Leaning her body against the wood of the normal, wooden tree, the Ranger let a nostalgic smile twitch to the full lips. This feeling of weakness from having a mortal body was so exhilarating! Everything had been too easy as an undead. Unfortunately that meant that she'd have to smell the foul odour within the Undercity.

Thinking of the Undercity again made her brow crease. Oh yes. Returning in such a state to a nation ruled by the dead would prove difficult. The Forsaken would never accept the living among them. Such a reason had been the driving force behind the intent to painlessly kill Vereesa back a year ago when they'd conceived the plan to rule together. That plan may be long burnt and cast to the cruel winds but the facts back then hadn't changed. Going back to the Forsaken would be a death wish waiting to happen. Going to the Kirin Tor was out of the question unless she was willing to toss a coin on whether or not Vereesa would betray her to Greymane.

Maybe the Blood Elves would be of help. Walking the streets of Silvermoon as a living person would be a truly wondrous experience. Rubbing her toned yet lithe forearm in an attempt to keep warm Sylvanas returned to the situation at hand. First things first, get to safety. Dalaran was a death trap waiting to happen and the headache was getting worse with each passing minute in tandem with the stomach cramps. That didn't stop her from picking up the heavy footfalls of nearby louts. Drawing her knives she peeked around the tree quickly in an attempt to find the origin of the steps. It didn't take long to find it.

Nearby was a group of three Horde warriors, containing an undead, Orc and a tiny little hooded Goblin. She hated Goblins with a burning passion. People said that she was fickle, but those diminutive creatures were even more so. Second on the 'most hated races in all of Azeroth' list that existed in her head. First on that list were Trolls. Trolls were the ancient enemies of the Quel'dorei since the forging of their kingdom many centuries ago. Be thankful for small mercies, as they say.

For a second she nearly left cover to approach them but immediately reigned herself back in. Best case scenario they assisted her to the nearest Horde settlement without much convincing. Worst case was that the Forsaken caused trouble because the Dark Lady was alive. One more scene did creep into the back of her mind but was quickly shoved back down. Absolute worst case situations were not something that she enjoyed entertaining for too long. Still, it would be best to wait a minute to gauge what they were.

The Forsaken wore tattered remains of a Kirin Tor mage robe, the insignias covered by the Forsaken coat of arms. While scrawny like most undead the man retain most of the facial features without much decomposition. That scrawny stature though would mean very little due to the magical energy that flowed through his blood starved veins. As far as Orcs went this one was very typical with the big burly figure encased in heavy plate armour. No doubt the large axe on his back was nearly weightless to one of that stature. Glancing down at the Goblin, it didn't take more than a farm boy to know that he was a brigand, or rogue as they liked to be called in society as a whole. Little knives hung from the creatures belt although not nearly as fine as the Elf's blades.

With a quick nod to allow the information to sink in, Sylvanas stepped out from behind the tree with one knife sheathed and the other hidden within easy reach in the folds of her cloak. Hidden by the waist length hair it would be difficult for someone to discover from a passing glance. In a passive yet commanding strut the woman proceeded towards the three adventurers. At the approach the Goblin was the first to notice and colour visible drained from his face. Like the coward that he was the creature ran behind the Orc who turned towards her. Although stoic with his response it was clear how intimidated that he was. However that fear seemed to evaporate into confusion for a moment.

Slowly the Forsaken rose from the stone he was on with wide eyes. "The Dark Lady!?"

Sylvanas smiled. "In the flesh."

"You seem different to the Banshee Queen," the Goblin chirped from behind the giant Orc who was stroking his beard with narrow red eyes. The pale grey eyes shot down to the figure which immediately sent a visible shiver up the Goblin. Most of their race was cowardly with only a few brave enough to actually fight an opponent head on. While not excited to fight enemies head on, Sylvanas understood the difference between intelligent guile and cowardly behaviour.

"A strange occurrence to be certain, but one I'm not too bothered about."

Still the Orc seemed to stroke his beard in silent contemplation. There was something wrong about this picture. Generally the Orcs weren't one for silent thought when they were warriors. Their shamans were a different story but warriors didn't usually think too much. Passing her eyes over to the Forsaken she noticed the visibly disturbed look on his face. Seeing the Banshee Queen alive may have been too much of a shock. Revealing the betrayal of five Dark Rangers would probably be a bad idea at this time.

The Orc grabbed the Forsaken's rotting shoulder and spun him around so their backs were turned to her. They began to whisper but in spite of her acute hearing the woman couldn't pick out any important information. There was a good few moments before the burly warrior turned back to her with a smile on his tusked lips.

"You're coming with us, Sylvanas," he said with a hand reaching to his axe handle.

"Don't threaten me, Orc. And use proper respect when addressing the Dark Lady!"

The Forsaken looked downcast as he summoned fire to his hands. "Lady Windrunner, forgive me, but we have orders to bring you to Orgimmar to stand trial for your many crimes."

Drawing her sheathed knife she narrowed her eyes. "Trial!? On who's authority?" she barked only to find that the intimidating factor of her voice found no purchase any longer on the Horde warriors.

"The Warchief's. You have had this coming a long time, demon!" The Orc roared and charged at her. Already anticipating the oncoming attack Sylvanas leapt to the side to allow the Kodo of a warrior to belt on through. Flares of anger mixed with the pain in her gut and the headache that plagued her didn't help much to keep her temper from fraying. From the side a small little figure appeared from the shadows with knives already prepared to strike. With a lightning fast flick of the wrist Sylvanas batted the Goblins attack away while the furious grey eyes searched for fatal flaws.

Heat began to singe her back, causing her to roll out of the way as a massive ball of fire hurtled past. Without a bow killing the mage would prove harder. Harder, but not impossible. Heavy stomps caused her to turn as the warrior swung the oversized axe around in a wide arc. Ducking low she felt the axe glide over the tips of her ears. Given the chance she jabbed at the exposed joint between chest piece and leggings, driving the knife in deep with a twist. Howling the pain the Orc rose his knee and found purchase in her stomach. Pain ran through her gut from the bone breaking strike so synonymous with Orcs. Snatching the weapon out with a trail of blood following after, Sylvanas backed away as quickly as possible. That wound wouldn't heal properly. A simple twist of the blade made any wound harder to heal. From the grunts of pain it was obvious it was working.

Balls of fire flew towards the flexible Ranger, one catching a tattered corner of the cloak trailing behind. Spinning to the mage she summoned a spell that had not seen much use recently. Raising a slender finger to her lips, her eyes sharked as the pain deep down got worse, but the spell was cast. Uselessly the mage tried to chant his incantation but no words left the dead lips. Shocked by the lack of powerful words, the Forsaken held his throat in an attempt to speak. Nothing. Silence was a brilliant spell.

Sharp, stabbing pain shot up her leg. It took all her willpower not to yelp or make any noise as to rob the assailant of a modicum of satisfaction. Glaring down at the Goblin who was trying to meld back into the shadows, she stamped out with her boot to catch the edge of his concealing cloak. Crying out in surprise the little green creature fell backwards and stared up in horror as Sylvanas drove her knife through his eye socket. Savage glee was evident in her eyes while she watched the twitching body of the dead Goblin. Behind her she sensed the attack of the Orc once more, spinning around to see the axe in a downward swing right toward her head. Effortlessly slipping to the side she knew that as the weapon flew past it would only take a second to adjust to bring it side on into her. Wrapping her arm around the giant's biceps she attempted to hold the axe in place for a moment.

The Orc grinned. "You used the wrong arm, witch." Apparently she had, as the arm partially holding the arm in place was the one wielding the knife.

She grinned. "No, I didn't." She yanked the second knife out from the pockets of her cloak and jabbed it up into his neck. Repeatedly, like a bloodthirsty maniac, she stabbed until there was no strength left in the Orcs body, the beast falling backwards.

With a fierce glare the Elf sprinted towards the undead mage who looked on in silent terror as the twin knives were imbedded in both his head and chest. A spike of sorrowful pain entered her heart for a second at seeing him die. The fate that awaited him was not one that she wished on any creature, even Arthas. As the unfamiliar adrenaline subsided she fell to her knees with dogged pants. Battle was something that Sylvanas participated in frequently but with a mortal body it was painful. Muscles that hadn't received any blood for the better part of a decade were now stinging from their new use. As time went on they'd readjust.

Slowly the fury in her chest faded to leave a sense of painful emptiness. _'What is this?'_ she thought dreamily. As the magic energy began to leave the undead mage, she felt a longing for the substance. Like a moth to a flame the knives were dropped and the now empty hands began to reach for the magic. If only she could just touch it. Maybe inhale a bit of the magic. That was all she wanted. Deep down in her stomach the empty pit lusted after the magic.

_'NO!'_ she snapped internally, tearing her hands away. _'I am NOT some mush brained mana addict!'_ It was magic withdrawal. It had been years since she'd been able to feel the addiction of her people and although the Sunwell was relit, clearly it hadn't had time to work its magic on her. High Elves suckled magic from their mothers bosom from the moment they were born, whether they or the mother were aware of it. As an undead it had not been a bother as the addiction was removed by the effects of Frostmourne. Now, it seemed that life had brought back the dark truth of the High Elf people. Not having an ample supply of magic, due to it not being required, was now having severe side effects.

Weakly she fell forward with a grunt. If she could just absorb a bit of magic then she'd be fine but stubbornly Sylvanas just lay there. She'd not turn into a Blood Elf! Gradually her eyesight began to blur. This was so humiliating. The Banshee Queen reduced to such a weakened state. How Arthas would have laughed if he were alive. Garrosh would have been taunting her by now, asking where the invincible Dark Lady of the Forsaken had gone.

Footsteps nearby sent her into a state of alarm. More Horde? Actually either Alliance or Horde would be bad at this stage. Feebly she reached out and took hold of the two knives. Aim for the throat. That should be easy enough even in this state. The footsteps ceased next to her and the sound of rustling chainmail made her tense up. Come closer. She could barely see and being face down it didn't help. Roll her over. Come on.

The figure did roll her over but when she lashed out the tired arms wouldn't obey. They hung uselessly beside her. Also, instead of using his foot to roll her, she found herself held gently in the arms of what seemed like a man from the blurry figure. There was a great amount of magic stored within him, that much she could sense and her addiction desired it. Within the blurry world she noticed the glowing tattoos on one side of his face and the purple fabric of the tabard. Kirin Tor? More than likely, but those tattoos harkened back to something she'd seen in recent years yet couldn't place.

"Ma'am!" the man roared. "You may want to see this." Carefully she was hoisted from the ground by the man, an action which she despised. One of these days she'd drive a blade through his heart for observing her in such a weakened state.

As the world began to darken once more, Sylvanas saw an indistinguishable figure jogging up who consisted mostly of pale silver in their attire. A High Elf of the Silver Covenant? As the world went black she heard the woman speak.

"Anar'alah...Sylvanas?!"

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><p><strong>AUTHOR NOTE: Thank you everyone for your reviews. <strong>

**Just a few final details about this story. In this chapter it may seem as though Sylvanas is a tiny bit weak. Remember, she's an archer first and a knife fighter second. While all three sisters are competent melee fighters, they are ranged fighters first and foremost. Also, nowhere in Warcraft lore does it explain just how old any of the sisters are, so I'm just making up an age. **

**Finally, about reviews for this chapter should there be any. I want criticism on how I can do something better, even if it may just be the way to story flows or is set out. I will try to accommodate and evolve as the story progresses. I have written fiction in the past but nothing of this magnitude. **

**Feel free (actually, I encourage you) to predict possible outcomes to this story, and remember that this is the Windrunner family we're talking about. I may be doing this to give a bit of joy to an otherwise tragic family, but don't think I'll pull my punches.**

**Thanks all.**


	3. Chapter 3

Magical energy flickered from the torches on the wall as they were lit by the mage that passed through her office. As the chill of the Northrend evening began to set in, the High Elf had to mentally order herself not to shiver. Despite being covered in light armour and wrapped in her cloak the cold still cut straight through her slight frame. Luckily the torches would create magical heat to counteract the night air in short order, so a degree of discomfort would have to be dealt with. Peeking outside her office window quickly, she saw High Elves who were clearly feeling the cold. It would be only a temporary inconvenience for them. Soon enough they'd be in their snug houses while the night shift came to life.

Unfortunately Vereesa's job constantly plotted to keep her awake. All day she'd been doing paperwork and chasing after one thing or another. With Jaina in Stormwind with Kalecgos, many of the duties that those two should have been performing had been placed on the High Elves shoulders. Not the first time since Rhonin used to leave quite a bit for her to pick up due to simple laziness. That didn't make this any easier. Paperwork was boring and unchanging. She'd instead much prefer to be charging through Icecrown Citadel on a suicide run.

Leaning back in her chair, Vereesa took in the crisp night air. It was hard to believe that it'd been two years since Rhonin's death. For the better part of nearly two decades they'd been inseparable, now that connection was no longer physical. There would always exist a haunting ghost of the one man she'd ever loved, but lately she'd been finding comfort from the other women in the Covenant. Those who'd lost loved ones at Theramore were quick to surround Vereesa at the first sign of reminiscing sadness. A few of those women seemed to have moved on from the horrifying incident rather well, a couple even remarrying after the mourning period.

Was love that cheap to them? No. Upon first hearing about their decisions to move on so quickly Vereesa had flown into a rage, followed quickly by her breaking down into tears. Although a very strong woman, remembering Theramore always brought tears to the sapphire blue eyes. On that occasion one of the elder women had stated simply that staying tied down by death was one reason the Blood Elves were created. It also disgraced the memory of the deceased to mourn for too long. They'd not want their loved ones to cry away their lives. Now Vereesa saw the wisdom in those words. From that day forth she'd stopped crying over Rhonin's death. Well, mostly. She still sobbed on their wedding anniversary oddly enough but that was it.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention, looking up from her desk as the door was pushed open. Seeing the Human mage and Elven Ranger immediately made her shove the paperwork to one side. Like a hawk she watched them approach but her heart could barely contain the eagerness that existed just under the surface. This had been a long awaited report about their new 'guest'. Another thing that work had done was separate the youngest Windrunner from the older woman who now occupied a room within the Enclave. Anxiously she stroked the golden wedding band like a nervous wife awaiting news of their husband or children.

In the combined light of the setting sun and the orange glow of the torches, her eyes instinctively analysed their newcomers. The Ranger was fairly well built with blond hair and thin scars running down his cheek. At his side was the silver sword that had been given to him years ago in Silvermoon by the coward that now ruled the majestic city. Thinking about that man made her blood boil but quickly snapped back to reality. This wasn't the time to get hot under the collar. There would be a reckoning but not now. A Windrunner could be patient. Instead she eyes shifted to the man in armoured purple robes.

To call him tall was an understatement. He was about as tall as King Wrynn with a moderate build which betrayed years of physical combat. Strange blue tattoos ran down the right side of his face, from just under the black hairline down to the bottom of the jaw. Unlike many Kirin Tor magi, he wore armour plating and carried a sword. Personally she'd never seen him fight but had it on good authority that this man was a demon when dealing with mages and magical beings. There was a strange power that radiated from him that resembled a blue dragon's power but he wasn't a dragon. He was as human as Rhonin or Jaina but there was something odd about him.

In drilled practice the High Elf, Loth'ran, came to attention before her. He bowed as one did before a Ranger-General despite the fact that she'd specifically asked him not to. Loth'ran and she had trained together when they were just trainees and to have him bow down only stroked her ego for so long. Now it was just irritating. With an internal groan she just shook her head. He'd never learn.

Attention was then shifted to the mage who held up a document while nodding respectfully. The only person that Jarec had ever bowed to was Kalecgos and occasionally Jaina. Even King Wrynn got no bow from him. It was odd for a Human not to bow to the supreme commander of the Alliance.

"Is that the report?" she asked hopefully, leaning forward in readiness to receive the folder.

"That it is. Just a formality really, considering that stiff neck here could have recited it word for word," Jarec told her, nodding his head towards Loth'ran with a small smile. The High Elf rolled his dimly glowing blue eyes with a click of his tongue to display the annoyance he must have been feeling. These two didn't get along very well. Why Vereesa had ever stuck them together was a vast mystery.

Jarec handed her the report before glancing at the High Elf out of the corner of his eye. Clearly the Ranger had something to say, even Vereesa could see that. "Ma'am, we checked everything we possibly could without venturing into...uncomfortably territory." She had to fight back a chuckle in an attempt to remain professional. If there was one thing she cursed Rhonin for, it was making her 'lighten up' a bit.

"That said," Loth'ran continued, "I can't stress enough that bringing the monstrous Banshee Queen to Dalaran is a mistake."

"Watch your tone when referring to Sylvanas," Vereesa barked, looking up from the piece of paper with fiery blue eyes. Sylvanas was still her flesh and blood, even if blood hadn't flown in those veins for years. Glancing back down at the paper she read in silence. Each line made her eyes open wider and wider still, the rhythmic heart beat accelerating while occasionally skipping a beat. Barring the official jargon that had to be tossed in to please the admin personnel, it was a fairly simple and concise report. However no amount of re-reading could make the words sink in any clearer.

Inside her mind, the information was paraphrased to make it easier to digest. Heart beat – normal and healthy. Blood found on cheek and under fingernails confirmed to be fresh. In addition, blood belonged to the prisoner. Residual magic of unknown origin found all over the body. A side note was that the prisoner (by the Light she hated that word when referring to Sylvanas) seemed to be suffering from severe magic withdrawal. Conclusion: Subject is living and not subject to possession.

The papers fell from the shaking hands as she looked up with giant eyes. "Sylvanas is alive?"

"From all the tests I could perform, yes. Usually a Banshee can feign life by possessing a living creature in order to infiltrate society. No matter how powerful or masterful one of their kind is, they always leave behind magical traces which make it easy for certain kinds of mages to detect. This is not a possession."

Cracks began to form in the professional demeanour, a smile starting to break out onto her lips. Standing from the desk she walked to the sole door into the office, closing it while trying not to break out into childish giggles. As the door clicked shut she turned around and looked the two men in the face. With no one else able to see them Vereesa leapt at Jarec, wrapping her arms around his neck in excitement. The poor mage yelped in surprise at being tackled by a High Elf who was usually professional at everything she did. Yet the sheer, unexplainable joy that coursed through Vereesa's body was unable to be contained any longer.

Thanking Jarec over and over again she then leapt to Loth'ren who was a bit more accommodating to the hug, even returning it to her surprise. They had an odd relationship to be honest, one that sometimes bordered on romantic. However Vereesa wasn't ready to love another man just yet. Not yet. On the last anniversary of the destruction of Theramore, a vow had been made to move on. To get over the loss of Rhonin and attempt to let go of the futile depression that came every time that day rolled around again. The hatred towards the Blood Elves and the Horde would never fade. For the remained her of days, they would regret making an enemy of a Windrunner.

Windrunner's never forgot. Slight one and they shall not easily forgive. Even beloved Rhonin hadn't been safe from Vereesa's ire. She could remember the time he made a comment about her getting a little pudgy. Although it was just his endearing honesty, it had been a stupid thing to say. Retribution for such an insult, albeit unintentional, had come when she'd revealed four months later that she was putting on weight. That weight being two lives growing inside her. Further torture included hinting that the children may not even be his. Cruel and childish though it was, the absolute fool he'd made of himself was more than ample compensation.

Turning to the door the High Elf went to leave. "Jarec, can you find out when Jaina is scheduled to return? Loth'ren, go check on the twins for me." Towards Jarec it had been a request. Towards the High Elf Ranger, it had been an order. More than anyone else did Vereesa understand that after Rhonin's death, she no longer held the power to command any Kirin Tor mage to do anything. To a High Elf of the Silver Covenant she still held complete command and exercised all authority available to her whenever the chance arose.

Without a need to hear their replies, Vereesa left. Boots clapped on stone stairs as the woman sped towards the chamber housing the once dead Windrunner. While moving with the utmost haste, composure and a professional face were not forgotten. To any who walked past it just appeared as though their General was going about the last duties of the day before returning home. As the orange sun completely faded it broke her heart to know that tonight she'd be late in getting back home. That's why Loth'ren had been trusted with caring for the children. To be entrusting the protection of Giramar and Galadin to another pained Vereesa, but they'd understand.

Dalaran's air continued to send chills up her spine as she entered one of the towers. It had been decided that placing Sylvanas on a lower level was just asking for an easy escape. Although preparing a room in the upper most tower of the Silver Enclave would by no means guarantee the failure of any attempts, but it would better their chances. Hopefully her sister would be reasonable. To further add to security, twin High Elf guards stood outside the locked door which could only be opened by key. Attempting to break down the door would lead to rather 'shocking' consequences. Glancing at the guards, they understood the silent orders and opened the door without hesitation. It would be locked again after entry.

Entering the room, Vereesa felt her breath get caught in her throat at the sight. Slowly the woman approached the taller figure laid out in the bed, raven black hair plastered across the sharp featured face. Blue eyes ran down the body until resting on the chest which rose and fell in shallow, calm intakes of air. Sitting in the centre of the chest was the shining necklace of sapphire, a third of the original necklace worn by Alleria. Unconsciously her fingers caressed the ruby necklace dangling down the front of her silver armour. There was only one of those necklaces in this world, broken into three parts before one part was forever lost on Outland. Knowing Sylvanas, there was no way she'd allow the necklace to be placed on a phoney body.

If it had been a phoney body it would have been of fantastic quality in spite of the hair being the wrong colour. In life the hair had been like spun gold crafted by a god. When next Vereesa had seen Sylvanas after the fall of Silvermoon, the hair had taken on its current black colour. Not that explaining the change in hair colour would be difficult. Being stabbed through the heart by a runeblade, then being revived as a Banshee and then repossessing your own body would probably have some unforeseen side effects become apparent along the unwelcome journey. However the skin was no longer the odd pale shade of blue, having retaken its original skin tone.

Although slimmer than before, Sylvanas had not lost any of that natural beauty. Supple and voluptuous would be considered blasphemy when people described this woman. It had been as though the Creators had formed the perfect person. Even with no makeup and with the black hair in a mess, Sylvanas was a woman to envy. To be honest Vereesa envied her sisters beauty. While each of the sisters were desirable women in their own right, Sylvanas had always been the best looking. Still, that envy was only very minor and just made the youngest sister love her elder sister even more.

Hesitantly a hand was extended to touch the smooth, creamy skin. It was warm to the touch with small droplets of sweat running down the smooth surface. When undead, this skin had been so cold to the touch that woollen gloves would not have staved off the chill. Gliding like a leaf on the wind the hand moved to the woman's neck, attempting to find a pulse. It was found rather quickly and the pounding made her ecstatic.

Pulling up a chair the woman sat next to her sister with a grin plastered to the lips. These last decades had been cruel to the Windrunners. Family had been torn away by Orcs or the Scourge, one had been brought back via foul necromancy and the man she'd loved had been murdered. To have a joyful moment such as this was refreshing. How Sylvanas would react to being alive again sent chills down her spine.

With a bored sigh Sylvanas sat down on the black ground, leaning her elbow on her knee. Well this was different to what she'd expected. The Realm of the Dead had already laid claim to her dark soul years ago at Icecrown. Why weren't Shades descending upon this poor, wretched woman to torture her? Alright, she was glad that they weren't coming to begin their eternal torment but this was dull. Where was Arthas so that she could kick his face in a few times to vent some last minute anger before the screaming started?

Looking around, she took in the surrounding that had been familiar for the last few hours. Black, black and more black. It was like looking into a bottomless pit, no, that would be better because you could see the sides! This was just endless walking, running and sitting. This had to be death, or limbo to be more accurate. More than likely the mana withdrawal had been too much for the newly revived body. While the tingling sensation throughout her entire body and the dark world around her were unfamiliar, that could just be because this was true death. All deaths prior to this one had been rudely interrupted by some outside force wrenching the soul back from the abyss or the glorious city she'd seen during her first death.

Not wishing to give the tormentors of the damned any satisfaction, she fought down the fear rising in her heart. Nothing scarred her except for the Realm of the Dead. The brief stay in the dark world was more than enough to chasten even the frailest heart into knowing no fear. No matter what though, her insides decided that they wanted nothing more than to have a dance party to hide from the fear.

"Well, may as well get comfortable," she mumbled, lying back with a groan. Suddenly everything froze in an instant, her eyes widening. All this time she'd never thought to look up and now she mentally lashed herself for not. High above was a glistening city of golden light, separated from her by a vast sea of blackness. Blinding though the lights should have been they did not stop her from admiring the glittering materials used in the outer walls. Using her hawk like sight the fallen Ranger tried to make out any details about the astonishing city, only to find much of it hidden behind walls or too far away to see.

Stretching out her hand the woman smiled at the irony. This was to be the eternal punishment for all the crimes she'd committed in the name of vengeance? To sit here with the ultimate prize out of reach for all time yet just within sight range. Oh Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. Retracting the outstretched hand Sylvanas sighed and thought back to what the Horde adventurers had said. She was to be put on trial like that dog Garrosh? Granted many of the Forsaken's acts could be seen as morally wrong but in a war for survival there was no good or evil. Would she have committed similar acts while alive? Maybe. In war morality had to go out the window in order to survive.

Death would be bitter this time around. There were still a few things that were left over. Minus the possible arrow aimed at Vol'jin's throat, she had five arrows that had to fly before dying. Five dead Dark Rangers, sent screaming to the abyss for their insolent betrayal. If given a chance to exact revenge, they'd learn the folly of their ways. A Windrunner was patient, oh yes they were and Sylvanas was the most patient of them all. Even if it took decade's vengeance would be hers. Or at least it would have been.

Something thumped the ground beneath her, causing her to raise an eyebrow. Rolling over she screamed unintentionally at the drawn, gaunt face of the man beneath her. They were separated by what seemed like glass, the man grey haired and harrowed with terror in his eyes. They were very recognisable eyes too. As he beat on the glass like floor old hatred rose up.

"ARTHAS!" she spat furiously. Before the hated man could speak a spectral creature of mist and bone burst from the darkness below, latching onto him before it dragged the man back into the darkness below. Fear began to consume the Ranger as a Shade burst from the darkness, clawing at the transparent floor. Like a child scarred of a spider Sylvanas skirted away on her hands and knees. No! She would not suffer that fate!

"A tragic fate for one who could have been one of the greatest kings of Humankind," a man said from behind her. She suddenly bumped into the figure in the attempt to escape the Shade. Glancing up she saw a Human with brown hair which was greying in some places, dressed in the gold armour of a Paladin. Another face she remembered from both the Second War and the assault on Icecrown Citadel.

"Uther Lightbringer," she stated with a cheeky smile. "Come to purge me, oh great Paladin?"

"Don't test me, woman. I usually don't strike ladies but in your case I may make an exception." His eyes passed from her back to the Shade and the grey Elven eyes followed the gaze. "I presume you remember what is down there."

"All too well. Personally I'd rather not relive it until I've dragged five more down to that abyss with me."

The Paladin knelt down next to the High Elf and closed his eyes. "Vengeance is a horrible thing, Lady Windrunner. Look at where it took you."

"Don't lecture me! I'd wager you're younger than I am by at least five decades." Being a High Elf he'd have believed her too. In truth she was probably closer to being only thirty years older at most. She'd achieved her position of Ranger-General at a VERY young age. Some old quel'dorei rituals would state that she was still a child. Could a child take over a city inhabited by Worgen? Could a child march through Icecrown?

Despite the hostility Sylvanas was glad to have someone who was at least normal around. The Shade eventually relented in its assault and left. Turning back to the Paladin she organised her mind while standing up tall and straight, although still finding that she was shorter than Uther was. It mattered not though as her eyes became the same harsh and commanding eyes that caused those twice her size to submit to her. Only Garrosh and Alleria had ever stood their ground before the brutal eyes.

"I need some answers, Lightbringer. Where am I? This isn't the Realm of the Dead."

Uther looked a little perplexed and then shook his head. "Well, it is hard to explain. The 'Realm of the Dead' as you call it, is actually a Hell for the greatest of all sinners. It is but one section of the Spirit World. You could say that there exist five locations in the Spirit World of Azeroth. Two sections are Hell, one of which you already know. The second is for criminals such as Edwin Van Cleef who haven't committed crimes befitting eternal torment of...that magnitude," he told her, pointing down to the darkness below.

"The remaining three are the Golden City, which is for those who worship the Light. High above that is the Moon, where Elune cares for the Night Elves who die. She's actually rather pleasant company when she comes to visit on occasion. The last location is called the Spirit Plains. This is where creatures who follow other religions, like Orcs, and Dragons go upon death. Although we of the Golden City have access to travel between the Realms, I have not dared traverse those Plains lest I meet an Orc I've killed."

"Sounds fairly complex, but you didn't answer my question. Where am I?"

"In limbo between the Realms. I can only presume that means that you have been given a chance at redemption to atone for your vast sins."

Sylvanas threw back her head and burst out laughing. Redemption? For her sins? Her response was very clear. She'd fallen further than anyone else on all of Azeroth! The amount of monstrosities committed in the name of revenge and then survival already marred her for the rest of eternity. Running her fingers through her now ebony hair she grinned. Still, it was a tantalizing idea. To have a chance to obtain that which had been robbed from her by Arthas in his cruel campaign for power, it was too good to be true. Nowhere in her mind could she even begin to comprehend why any spiritual being would give her a chance at redemption.

With a sigh the Paladin bowed his head. "I can tell that you believe yourself beyond redemption, but I have seen those who have committed foul crimes find redemption. I know not who or what decides whether someone is irredeemable, however if I were in your shoes, I'd take the chance. You'll have a chance at escaping that pit which lies below." Her eyes glanced back as something began to tug at her from behind. Nothing. Switching back to look at Uther she noticed that he was travelling away from her, walking up a flight of invisible stairs towards the city above. She tried to move but immediately fell forward and tumbled into darkness.

Immediately light filled her vision as cool air bombarded her lungs whilst they gasped for air like someone who was drowned. The light was warm and gentle, enough so that one could read a book with ease. It took a few moments for Sylvanas to remember that she actually had a heart beat again as the pounding organ surprised her at first. A droplet rolled down her long eyebrows and landed on her cheek, the woman wiping it away. Sweat. She'd not sweated in years. Disgusting.

Looking around the ceiling she took in every detail. It was wood, the kind used in Lorderan and Quel'thalas constructions. Hawk like eyes locked onto the small marking on the corner of one of the planks. The eye of the Kirin Tor. She sighed, taking in the magic charged air around her. Dalaran. Memories of the aftermath of the battle with the Horde soldiers were replayed for her convenience, including when the Kirin Tor mage had scooped her up. How embarrassing. Well, at least they'd had the courtesy to prove a comfortable bed.

A small moan from nearby and the sudden familiar aura alerted her to a nearby presence. Eyes immediately snapping left she stared at the mound of silver hair resting against the bedside. That silver hair was so familiar and it should be as the person it belonged to shifted slightly. Vereesa. Part of Sylvanas jumped for joy at having the greatest of all traitors so close at hand. With barely any effort she could break the High Elf's neck and be done with her vengeance for the injustice during the Trial of Garrosh. All it would take was a bit of stealth. Rolling over stiffly her hands began to move towards the woman who lay helpless before her.

Something resembling a whimper left the Elves lips, only now did the newly revived Sylvanas see how she was shivering. It was rather chilly in this room. The High Elf tried in futility to curl up as tight as possible without stirring. For a few moments Sylvanas just stared at her little sister before sitting up with a stiff grunt. Searching around, she found the extra blanket at the end of her bed. The Kirin Tor were apparently very accommodating to high value prisoners such as the infamous Banshee Queen. Carefully she took the blanket and draped it over the sleeping Elf. Immediately Vereesa responded by pulling it tighter with a content sigh.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "How did you ever become Ranger-General of anything?" she mumbled.

'_And why do I still care for you? Must be what remains of my big sister instincts. Oh well. I can wait. I am very patient and I'll make sure you suffer for the pain you've caused me, Vereesa._'

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><p><strong>READERS! It's not over yet! (random Liquid SnakeVolgin reference). Ok, a couple of things. First of all, this chapter was finished a while back but due to real life happening it was hard to edit/proof read this. Just as a bit of a guideline for the future: I'll try to upload a chapter every fortnight to a month. I can't make promises but that's my plan from now on. The next chapter is actually a bit hard to write, although I know where to go just not how to get there.**

**On to a few things - Yes, I know Sylvanas had golden hair and blue eyes. More accurately they're described as closer to grey then blue and her hair is like a waterfall of gold. I am aware of her physical...um...traits? I intentionally made them the way they are. If something doesn't make sense in this story at first, point it out in a review. It may just be me being absent minded or it's intentional. **

**Secondly - Yes, I intend to take a bit of artistic licence and make up an age for the Windrunner sisters. One piece of lore seems to put Alleria at over 1000 years old and I found that odd considering that high elf mages are supposed to live longer than 200-400 years. So, I'm just changing the ages a bit. In the end it doesn't mess with the story too much.**

**Now, I will swallow my pride and ask a few little things for people to PM me about. I do intend to include the twin sons of Vereesa (yeah, big shock considering they're the reason Vereesa returned to Dalaran). However, I want to get their age and characters right and I don't think I have a good enough picture of them. A bit of help would be appreciated. **

**Once again, review and feel free to point out any problem and so forth. If you see a spelling error, I've probably noticed it but it's been too late. **

**Thanks.**


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